


Blown Cover

by TheatreGirl79



Category: The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Explicit Language, Gen, Non-Graphic Violence, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 14:00:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheatreGirl79/pseuds/TheatreGirl79
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A botched recon mission puts Clint and Bruce in danger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blown Cover

Clint fell back into the small cover he had stumbled upon, and was quickly changing out the heads on the couple of arrows he had been able to retrieve. He took a couple of deep breaths, slowly in and out, and began to assess the situation in his mind.

One. The agent SHIELD had sent with them has been taken out. Where the body fell was anyone’s guess at this point.

Two. They took the Hulk out.

_Son of a bitch mother fuckers took the Hulk out._

Clint didn’t stop to think where Bruce was at this time, or if he was still the Hulk, or back to Dr. Banner. There was no time, plus, it wasn’t like the Hulk was going to lay down and let Bruce die.

Three. His right leg hurt like hell. Probably stemming from the charred flesh wound after the fireball that ate through his uniform.

Clint was starting to really have a problem with magic, and really, his problem was with the supervillians that enjoyed tormenting innocent people with it. Well, innocent people and his friends. He set the reused arrows into his quiver, not even needing to look at placement, just so used to the feel of it.

Four. The rest of the Avengers had been on various Ops and jobs when SHIELD called them in. No one knew where Clint and Bruce were, except SHIELD, and this was supposed to be a simple science recon, thusly why they were with one agent and Bruce.

_Five. Simple my ass._

Six. SHIELD wouldn’t know something was wrong for another 2 hours and 47 minutes when they were due to check in.

He glanced up from his watch as a silence fell across the abandoned neighborhood. Why did it always have to be abandoned neighborhoods? Or abandoned warehouses? Although, Clint preferred that over a school full of children any day. Clint silently removed an arrow from his quiver, one of the specialty ones that went boom. He wasn’t taking any chances.

Seven. The bad guys didn’t tell them what they wanted. Just started taking them out.

Eight. They were barely in the facility before they were fired upon.

_Nine. The bad guys knew we were coming._

Clint rolled up onto his feet, eyes darting around the area. Someone had tipped them off.

_Or set us up._

Neither scenario gave Clint happy bunny feels. He crouched down, moving along the wall towards the corner of the building. Taking a deep breath, Clint counted to ‘3’ in his head and angled himself around the corner. He could see a group of them down below his position. Easy shot really. He nocked the arrow and narrowed his eyes, aiming for the main bad guy. Well, the guy was wearing something that looked like a crown made out of crayons, so he figured he was the leader. Just as he was about to loose the arrow, leader dude looked right up at him. Clint’s heart thrummed in his ears.

“Hawkeye! Or should I call you Clint Barton?” Great. A scottish accent. Did the man with the crown want to be king?

_Ten. We were set up._

“Only my dates get to call me Clint. And you’re not my type,” Clint called back. He slowly stood up, the bow still tense in his fingers. No sense in laying down and dying even though they had spotted him. How? He had no idea. They would have to know a lot about him to find him that easily.

_Or magic._

“Perhaps not me, but maybe she is.” Crown Boy crooked a finger and the agent they were sent with was pushed out a door of a nearby apartment building. 

Clint stiffened. He had seen her dead. Her skull had been bashed in and there was gray matter. Yet here she was bloody with bruises, but perfectly alive. He stared down Agent Belford. His arrow inched towards her position.

“Would you kill your colleague so easily?”

“Yes,” Clint calmly replied.

“No love lost among your fellow agents? I see. But how would the Avengers feel?”

“I think they’d understand.”

“Too bad you won’t be able to find out.” The man with the crown grinned up at him and then flicked his hand towards Clint. Several glowing fireballs appeared out of nowhere and came flying straight at Clint’s head.

“Shit.” Clint dove headfirst to the ground of the roof, scrambling across it, his boots catching on the gravel. He could feel deep gouges in his bare arms from the jagged pieces of stone on the roof, but he didn’t care. Standing up, Clint popped around the corner and took his shot as another volley of fireballs came his way.

The resounding fireball of his own was a welcome sight as he flattened himself against the roof once more, pieces of the smokestack falling on him as the fireballs crashed through the bricks. He pulled another arrow and from a horrible, but necessary crouching position, screwed up the angle and hit Agent Belford in the shoulder, pinning her to the wall of the business across the street. He pulled another explosive arrow and sent it into a drum at the abandoned gas station across the street, smirking as it blew up, knocking over on of the pumps and turning that into a flaming mess as well. If he couldn’t contact SHIELD, he would make sure they knew where they had been.

Clint turned on his heel, pulling out another arrow, aiming right for the magician’s crown when he saw a fresh volley of fireballs bearing down on him. He let loose with the arrow, not letting himself think about any regrets when there was a roar behind him. He fell to the roof as the ground shook, the Hulk landing in front of him, taking out the corner of the building he was standing on. 

_Eleven. No one kills the Hulk. Especially not a MacIdiot._

He fought to keep his body loose, moving with the falling building around him. Clint really hoped he didn’t last this long to be buried under some old limestone. Any semblance of breath hitched in his throat. Clint groaned as the roar of destruction fell silent. He blinked the dust from his eyes and raised his head slowly, doing a mental checklist of injuries; they would get him classified as walking wounded, he could make it. Clint pushed himself up, feeling an aching strain in his arms and back. Debris fell off him and he coughed roughly, spitting some blood into the dirt by his hands.

Finally rising, Clint limped over to his bow, yanking it from under a pile of bricks. He let out a slow breath, dabbing at the cut on his lower lip with his thumb. It was close this time. He ambled out into the sunshine and looked up at the Hulk, surrounded by battered bodies of the enemy, crawling away. The Hulk dropped the body of the leader onto the ground, the magic wielder unconscious, and looking worse than Clint felt. Hulk turned towards Agent Belford who looked ready to puke. Or shit herself. Clint couldn’t blame her.

“Hey Big Guy! Let her be.” Clint purposefully moved towards the agent, drawing an arrow. He forced himself to not pay attention to the pain.

Hulk craned his torso towards Clint, a low growl in his throat, a sneer on his face. His body moved towards Belford. She whimpered.

“I got this one,” Clint said, moving in front of her, arrow nocked and aimed at her heart. He heard the Hulk snort, and move away from them. Clint turned back to Belford, his eyes cold. “I wouldn’t get too comfortable if I was you. The Hulk would probably have been quicker than what Fury is going to do to you. Now, where’s our emergency phone-a-friend out of here?”

Belford reached in her pocket, raggedly breathing as he shoulder still bled around the arrow that held her against the building. She held the phone out to Clint. “Please, I had no choice,” she croaked out.

“Neither do I,” he said, as he let the arrow fly into her thigh, guaranteeing she wouldn’t be going anywhere. Taking the phone, he called for transport out of there, along with a clean-up crew. Pocketing the phone, he turned his back on Belford’s pleas, and went in search of Bruce.

**Author's Note:**

> Interestingly enough, this was originally inspired by giving a play-by-play of a PVP in Avenger's Alliance. Proof you never know where inspiration will hit.


End file.
